


Probably Up (With You)

by beetlesandstars



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Steve loves Tony, Tony can’t accept it first, Tony loves Steve, disbelief, dumb nerds dude like it’s v sweet, it’s quite a scene, just total bloody disbelief, purelllyyyyh fluff I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24360805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetlesandstars/pseuds/beetlesandstars
Summary: Tony had been told he had a problem, by many people, in many locations, and oddly enough all of the tell-offs started with, “listen, Tony, Tones, pal, I think you’ve got a bit of an issue -” and subsequently ended with, “so maybe catch a few hours here and there? Maybe napping could be a solution? I’m on this medication that knocks me out, maybe you could try getting it prescribed -” and, well, yes. Tony concedes. He keeps odd hours, but only to keep up with his genius.Or: Tony doesn’t sleep much, the worry is very much in the background of the story, and Steve ends up having a sordid affair with Tony’s couch.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 75





	Probably Up (With You)

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a silly little drabble of sorts! Title based on the song Probably Up by Lawrence. 
> 
> I just started a Fiverrs account where you can request for me to write you ANY fanfiction with a pairing of your choice, for a manageable price!!! I know this is annoying, but just a share or a visit to my profile would make my whole world. Thank you so so much, here's the link: https://www.fiverr.com/miniclarke/write-any-fanfiction-you-ask-of-me
> 
> Enjoy lovelies!!!

Tony had been told he had a problem, by many people, in many locations, and oddly enough all of the tell-offs started with, “listen, Tony, Tones, pal, I think you’ve got a bit of an issue -” and subsequently ended with, “so maybe catch a few hours here and there? Maybe napping could be a solution? I’m on this medication that knocks me out, maybe you could try getting it prescribed -” and, well, yes. Tony concedes. He keeps odd hours, but only to keep up with his genius. 

His most revolutionary ideas tend to come to him like a wet dream at four in the morning when he’s knee-deep in his tinkering, so what’s another day spent exhausting himself with another life-changing idea? And what right does anyone else have to tell him they’re concerned? They’ve clearly never pulled three all-nighters only to crash for twenty-four hours thereafter. That shit’s orgasmic. 

Now, since Pepper and the whole -  _ taking a break _ thing happened, Tony’s been more than desperate to appear and maintain his busy-ness, over-ornating this and that, if only for the hell of it (sometimes he  _ fine-tunes _ his creations. Like, five times. Sue him). Like a little clever mouse he lives, skittering all around his lab, hologram there, half-eaten sandwich here, mugs filled either with stale coffee or some sort of experimental oil-coating (always a gamble taking a sip of anything in Tony’s lab, it is) all over the place. It’s cozy in a bizzare and hazardous way. 

As it always is, odd behaviour, no matter how long it’s been displayed, tends to garner some attention. Especially with friends and colleagues. “The Visits” (it’s capitalised in Tony’s head and all) start off gradually enough, almost slow enough for Tony to let it pass as some sort of hunt for human interaction (everyone knows Steve’s lonely and a good sport about it but nobody wants to think about how miserable he must really be. Tony thinks about it. A lot.) but eventually he folds. In all fairness, Tony waited an entire month to ask about it, but, well, he can’t just sit here and watch Steve pencil in another detail in his sketch looking so content to just be here, with Tony, like it’s normal (even though it is now, it’s practically  _ routine _ for Steve to come down three times a week at least, so Tony really doesn’t have much room to talk but he’s Tony so he’ll make room, thank you very much). 

“Hey. Steve,” says Tony, realising belatedly that his body is underneath a car and nobody has civil confrontations underneath cars. He settles for sticking his head out an extra inch, staring at Steve upside down. 

Steve’s sat on the leather couch the way he always does. Despite trying to keep his back straight and shoulders squared at all times of the day, like a totally normal human or whatever, Steve tends to shrink a little as time passes the two of them by, and Tony eats the sight up like sweet, sweet candy. There’s just something so endearing about Steve’s shoulders falling slowly, about his face going from bunched up and tense to lax and focused. And on top of that it’s so earnest, the way Steve then immediately rights his posture when Tony calls him out on it, and swears up and down that he wasn’t  _ slacking _ , and Tony always quips, “sure, Cap. Kinda like how I’m awesome at not being an asshole. Or. Wait, is that one of those things I’m not awesome at but pretend to be awesome at or -” he always does see the pencil come soaring at him in time to duck. 

“Hmm?” Steve hums from the couch. 

“So,” says Tony. Steve looks funny upside down, he remarks. “I just - uhm - is there a reason you’re here?” 

Steve doesn’t respond, nor does he spare Tony a glance. 

Panicky all of a sudden, Tony scoots out from underneath the car and gets up, dusting himself off as he leans on the car. Steve not replying is disconcerting. 

He runs a hand through his hair and assures, “it’s fine if there isn’t of course, but it’s nice to know, especially if you have some super-villainous alterior motive here and you’re really looking to get your suit upgrades out of me, since you could just ask really, and I’d do it no problem, but - _oh_.” He pauses, hoping to God to startle Steve enough to get him to look up. He doesn’t, but his lips quirk upwards a little. Win. 

Tony continues, “oh, Steve, pal, Winghead, it’s the couch, isn’t it? You’ve fallen, much like I did, for its leathery goodness and now you come down here to have your sordid affair with it, leaving your _own_ couch up there miserable and lonely and wondering where you run off to in the middle of the day. And here I thought you were totally golden and virtuous and ate righteousness for breakfast - just look at you, on the couch like that, ruining the whole image for me.” 

He pouts, batting his eyelashes, hoping, but - alas, Steve only purses his lips and continues sketching. 

“I’m not like, sentimental,” he drags on, “so you can take the damn couch if it’s what you want. I know you’re… very sentimental. Like, all-my-worldly-possessions-have-names sentimental. Just tell me what you name the couch before our divorce. It’s all I ask.” 

Steve closes his eyes for a second and takes a breath. If Tony didn’t know any better he’d think Steve’s repeating some sort of mental mantra to himself. Probably something along the lines of,  _ Tony is your teammate, Tony is your friend, killing him would be totally not-cool _ . 

Steve opens his eyes and puts his sketch down. “Tony, you are the most sentimental man I’ve ever met.” 

Tony blinks. “Me? Sentimental? I honest to God don’t even know what sentimentality is, it’s like, I get the shtick, but I’m not -” 

“Shellhead, you‘re - you’re  _ sickeningly _ sentimental,” says Steve, looking befuddled but grinning a little nonetheless like he’s realised there’s a button somewhere here in this conversation, a red, glaringly obvious button that just screams  _ sensitive-spot-for-Tony! _ and he seems very, very insistent in his pursuit to press it. 

Tony resists stomping his foot and pouting. He declares, “ _ you’re _ sickeningly sentimental. I’m callused. Like, super-duper Willy Wonka callused, like, have you seen the way he gets rid of the kids? It's so cold, so calculated, he’s a murderer, Willy Wonka’s a murderer and I’m not afraid to say it. I’m pretty sure he spent all those years in total isolation cracking at a plan only to realise that he’s a total icon and with the way others idolise him he could probably shoot some poor bastard in the face and get congratulated for inflicting something as freeing as death on such a lucky winner and -” 

“Tony.” Steve says his name with mirth and it does  _ not _ make Tony’s heart do a summersault and vault itself up into his throat. “You’ve named every single one of your robots and you print articles made on the team n’ leave them on the kitchen table for us; you don’t have an inch to negotiate here. Now sit your ass down.” 

Tony pushes himself from the car and plops down on his side of the couch so fast his knees crack. 

It dawns on Tony that this is exactly the type of shit Pepper was talking about when she said Tony really ought to use his clever little brain more. Tony knew, of course, that he was helplessly floundering, that he was irremediably, immutably,  _ irrevocably _ crushing on Steve Rogers. He knows this because he’s been crushing on Captain America since before he figured out basic physics. He’d just never figured he’d like the man behind the uniform as well. He does. He really, really does. 

But - he backtracks - a mere _crush_? It was too simple a word. What he feels for Steve is more like a soul-wrenching attraction so strong his heart stops whenever Steve sends him that little grin of his, the one where his eyes twinkle mischievously, like he’s just let Tony in on a secret, and his stomach just swoops. That’s not to mention Steve’s dimples. The Little Grin, such as it’s been dubbed, only allows one of said dimples to make an appearance, quick and precious, and typically, the world stalls and lets the grin fucking deck Tony every time. 

Steve grins at him like that now. 

“Anything else?” Steve prompts, and Tony sits up a little straighter. 

“Ah,” he says smartly. “Erm,” he continues, equally intelligent. 

Steve raises an eyebrow. “No? Nothing? Then yes. There was a reason I started coming down here.” 

“What? Was? Used to be? Past tense?” 

Steve, apparently completely oblivious to Tony’s plight, rubs at his chin gently. 

“Figured you knew,” says Steve. “I was just worried, was all. You never slept and the missions got real intense, and - I mean, I knew you could keep up, but you just looked so tired, so I… I just came down here to check on you.” 

“ _ Used to _ ,” reiterates Tony impatiently. 

“Yeah,” says Steve, smile tugging at his lips, the bastard. “I’ve grown to like the company.” 

Tony’s eyebrows kept climbing up to his hairline as Steve spoke, because these were all things they both knew, it was written in the subtext, so, “why are you bringing the stuff up that we don’t mention?” Tony voices his thoughts. 

“You asked.” 

The little shit. 

“You’re supposed to feed me  _ lies _ , Capsicle,” ethuses Tony. “White lies, about - about still being worried, about me being a mess and constantly needing to be watched except not really because you’d respect my boundaries but now - now you’re being all mushy about it and it defeats the purpose of asking entirely, I was sure you’d understand -” 

“Of course I still worry ‘bout you, Tony,” Steve cuts in. “But I’m also here because I want to be.” 

“Ah,” says Tony, pretending to get it. He offers, “skin hunger.” 

Steve blanches so hard Tony almost swallows his tongue. 

“I -” stutters Steve. “No. No, not whatever that is. It sounds horrifying, never say that again.” 

“Then what?” 

“It’s not all black and white -” 

“You’ve totally already ruined the whole subtextual thing we had going so you -” 

“Listen, just listen for -” 

“Tell me, you coward -” 

“I love you, you goddamn  _ ass _ .” 

Tony teeters over the edge of madness. He knows this because he just hallucinated Steve saying he loved him. When it’s clear Tony’s just going to sit there with his jaw hanging wide and eyes turned saucers, Steve puts his hand on Tony’s shoulder gently. Something clicks in Tony’s brain. Another loophole, how generous of the cosmos to offer him. 

“Ah,” says Tony, awkwardly patting Steve’s hand on his shoulder. “Brotherly affection. My favourite.” 

Steve rolls his eyes so hard he’s surprised he doesn’t keel over and die. Swiftly, Steve swoops in, pausing momentarily to offer Tony an out, only to crash their mouths together second later. 

Tony’s too stunned to react, so he just sits there and does nothing to reciprocate. 

Steve pulls away slowly, eyes fluttering open, eyebrows pulling taught again at the rejection and no, see, Tony _did_ _not_ authorise such a monumentally bastardly lack of a reaction from himself, so he gasps instead, and stutters unintelligibly, and does nothing for another second. 

Then, like God himself launched a rocket up his ass, Tony waxes lyrical, “I - oh my God - I never thought - I didn’t realise -” he topples over himself in his rush to get to Steve, kissing him square on the mouth. Then on his cheek, and then the other. The forehead. The chin. The nose. He feels like he’s exploding with light and hope and uncontrollable glee. His hands fist Steve’s shirt, and for one excruciating moment he stares Steve right in the eye, not daring to breathe. Steve’s ears and nose have gone red, and his lips are plump and rosy and above all else, looking very kissable. 

“Oh,” says Steve quietly, like it’s a secret. He grins. Tony stares back in awe. 

Everything feels sluggish and honeyed and slowed. This time, Steve leans in, all urgency in the act gone, leaving in its wake only an air of smothered yearning; the moment is brittle and calm and raw. Tony breathes in sharply, and Steve lets their lips meet. 

Tentatively, toeing the line but never crossing it, Tony teases Steve with his tongue, letting himself taste the fullness of his lips, the sweet hesitation lingering in every movement, keeping them suspended in time and space. He thinks maybe he’s riling him up, only he doesn’t realise how much till Steve suddenly yanks Tony forwards by his neck, deepening the kiss with such passion Tony’s head starts swimming. Steve strokes his hand up and down where it rests on Tony’s neck, his other hand on Tony’s hip, and everything is so careful despite Steve’s unimaginable strength, and Tony could cry. 

A wave of tenderness washes over Tony, not all at once, but like the careful dribble of a stream, filling his chest with warmth. The steady flow keeps from overwhelming him, letting the tears in his eyes only ever prick slightly, but never fall. 

The subdued heat pooling in his gut comes rushing back at the flick of Steve’s tongue, and he has to draw away momentarily. It’s so tender, all this, and he doesn’t know what to do with it exactly. He just wants to feel it, live it, breathe it. For a little while longer. 

Kissing Steve again at the corner of his mouth gently, he makes his way down to his shoulder, trailing hot kisses after him. Steve shivers but makes no move to rush things, and lets Tony hold him. Tony continues with his onslaught, pressing his mouth to Steve’s smooth skin. He feels so solid, so human, so real. It’s unbelievable. Letting himself get lost in the feel of Steve, he nudges his nose against Steve’s collar. 

Steve, in return, skims his hands up Tony’s sides to land in his hair, pulling carefully at his locks. Tony just about melts. The feel of Steve’s hands ground him, letting him come back to himself. He looks up at Steve then, eyes brimming with wonder at what he finds. 

_ I see you. I’m here _ , Steve says without opening his mouth, and Tony kisses him again. 

Steve tugs at his hair again, insistent this time, and Tony’s brain short-circuits with sparks tingling down his spine, right down to his groin. A noise, subdued but urgent, escapes Tony’s lips, and this time, the kiss isn’t early as gentle. 

Oh, he sure as  _ hell _ wouldn’t sleep tonight, he realises rather disinterestedly as he sheds his shirt and grapples with Steve’s. And as always, he’s perfectly okay with this revelation, life-changing ideas be damned. (But maybe this could be his very own life-changing idea of sorts). 

END 

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I didn’t really capture Steve or Tony’s characters this time, forgive me. Tony sort of acts here the way he would when he was younger but whatever, why not. It’s not serious, just a drabble, won’t hurt anyone. 
> 
> Also, here's the link to my Fiverrs account (where I proofread/beta read/edit your writing: https://www.fiverr.com/miniclarke/write-any-fanfiction-you-ask-of-me
> 
> I am almost done reading A Little Life, I must return to its misadventures and misery, so goodbye for now!!! Thanks for reading!!!


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